


My Duty

by SharkGirl



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Bodyguard, Bodyguard!Emil, Cute, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Short & Sweet, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 05:52:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14490228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharkGirl/pseuds/SharkGirl
Summary: “Your job?” Michele made his way over, his shoulders tense and his fists balled at his sides. “Your job is to be my bodyguard. To protect me,” he managed, his lower lip quivering. “How in thehellare you supposed to do that if you’re dead,stronzo?!”





	My Duty

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all!! Long time, no EmiMike, right? Well, I actually wrote this a while ago.  
> This is one of two works I did for the EmiMike Zine~ (which currently resides on my shelf - oh, my goodess, the art and fics in there are so good!!)
> 
> Beta'd by Laura (a million years ago...I still love you!!) And the Italian help came from the lovely Nerily~♡  
> Please enjoy~

Emil awoke to rhythmic beeping. His entire body ached and his eyelids felt unbelievably heavy. When he finally managed to get them open, the bright white of the room made him wince. He sucked in a breath and groaned at the sharp pain in his chest.

Oh. That’s right.

He couldn’t believe he’d nearly forgotten. The events of the day before – or, at least, the last time he was awake – flashed through his mind. The warm sun of midday, the unusual hurry they were in, the flowers he was holding. Violets. The same beautiful color as _his_ eyes.

Emil shot up in bed, the beeps coming faster. Was Michele alright? Had he performed his duty? Was he alive?

He reached out, searching for his phone or a call button, but he found nothing. The IV in his arm limited his range of motion, but his fingers finally grazed something. It was cool and smooth. He turned his head and blinked at the vase full of fresh violets on his bedside table. But before he could question their presence, the door to his room swung open.

And there, completely unscathed, though maybe a little worse for wear, was Michele Crispino, the very man he’d risked his life to protect. He stood in the doorway, looking as gorgeous as ever, despite the dark circles under his eyes. And Emil could have sung with joy.

He took in Michele’s haggard appearance. His rumpled trousers and wrinkled jacket. Clothing in which, in all the years Emil had known him, he wouldn’t have been caught dead. Then again, if not for Emil’s quick reflexes, he might very well have been.

Michele shuffled into the room on autopilot, his eyes trained on the floor and a non-branded cup of coffee in his hand. And to think, Emil had never known him to drink anything other than the finest espresso. He opened his mouth to comment on it, but it was then that Michele finally looked up. His eyes, the same lovely color as the flowers beside him, widened, and the cup fell from his hand, dropping to the floor and spilling its contents all over the tile.

And he stared, his lips parted and his entire body trembling.

Emil swallowed, offering Michele a sheepish little smile and a wave. “Hi, Mickey.”

Then the shock melted from Michele’s face, replaced by searing hot anger. “Hi, Mickey?” he repeated, clenching his fists. “ _Razza di idiota non provarci nemmeno. Tu non puoi immaginare...Ero terrorizzato all'idea che tu potessi...Perché lo hai fatto?_ Emil-”

“Whoa, whoa.” Emil held his hands up. “Mickey, slow down. You know my Italian isn’t-”

“Shut up!” he spat and Emil straightened, taken aback. Well, at least he was speaking English now. “What were you _thinking_?” he asked, brows knitting together. “Do you have any idea how I’ve…?” He shook his head. “Why did you _do_ that?”

Finally, Emil understood. Michele was scolding him. He just wasn’t exactly sure why.

“Mickey, I was just doing my job,” he explained, hoping to calm the other’s rage, but it only seemed to make it worse.

“Your job?” Michele made his way over, his shoulders tense and his fists balled at his sides. “Your job is to be my bodyguard. To _protect_ me,” he managed, his lower lip quivering. “How in the hell are you supposed to do that if you’re dead, _stronzo_?!”

Emil didn’t know what to say. Up until this point, Michele had never said he was displeased with his performance. In fact, he didn’t really say much to Emil at all, other than the occasional ‘We’re going this way,’ or ‘Hurry up.’

Of course, that wasn’t completely true. In fact, Michele used to talk to him often when Emil first joined the ‘family.’ He’d been an orphan, living on the streets. But he was taken in by the Crispinos when he accidentally tried to pick-pocket the wrong man. Thankfully, Mr. Crispino, who had two kids a few years older than Emil, hadn’t the heart to punish him.

So, instead, he began working for them. First, he was a playmate for the twins. But once he was old enough, he became the Crispino family’s delivery boy. He never asked what was in the envelopes or packages, but he wasn’t so naïve as to not realize what _could_ be inside. The Crispinos managed to keep their coveted position as a Fortune Global 500 company by any means necessary, after all. Still, he did his job well and he was rewarded by being promoted to bodyguard for the next in line, the CEO’s son, Michele.

And now Michele towered over him in the hospital room, a scowl on his lips, but a dozen conflicting emotions shining in those gorgeous violet eyes of his.

Emil cleared his throat, wincing again at the pain in his chest. He didn’t have to look down to know there were bandages wrapped all around him. Though, he wondered if the bullet had made it clean through. It must not have, since he leapt in front of Michele and the other man clearly hadn’t been hit. So, surely, it had gotten stuck partway. It would be really cool if he could keep it as a souvenir.

“Emil,” Michele interrupted his train of thought. “You almost died because of me.” And it was then that Emil noticed his hands were shaking. He reached out and took one in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“But I didn’t die,” he said, rubbing his thumb back and forth over Michele’s knuckles. “And next time, I’ll just wear a vest or something-”

“There won’t _be_ a next time!” Michele shouted, pulling his hand back and cradling it to his chest. “I almost lost you. Do you think I’d be so stupid as to put you in danger again?!”

Emil hadn’t pieced it together before. He’d simply assumed that Michele was upset that he’d gotten hurt, because it inconvenienced him. That he was frustrated that he’d have to get a temporary bodyguard until Emil was back on his feet. And he knew how much the next in line hated change. But now he understood.

“Mickey, were you…worried about me?” he asked, slowly cocking his head to the side.

“I was worried sick!” Michele threw his arms out. “I kept replaying it over and over again in my head, wondering what I could have done to save you. How I could have avoided the whole thing! And how, because of my recklessness, I wouldn’t ever be able to tell you how I-” but he paused, a flush spreading up his neck to his cheeks. “Never mind that.”

“Mickey-”

“I realize now what a dangerous position I’ve put you in,” he said, nodding his head once as if to reaffirm it. “So, I’d like you to step down.”

Emil wasn’t a fool. He’d known Michele for years. Sometimes, he felt like he knew the other man better than he knew himself. So, obviously, Michele must have known his answer before he’d even opened his mouth.

“I can’t do that, Mickey.”

“ _Why?_ ” he asked, face crumpling. “Do you mean to punish me? If you get hurt again because of me, I’ll-”

“And how do you think I’d feel?” Emil interrupted. A first. “Someone in your position will always have people coming after you.” He sighed, taking Michele’s hand. “I would rather die a thousand deaths than see you get hurt, Mickey.”

“Emil…”

“Please don’t misunderstand me,” Emil began with a chuckle. “I’d much rather live.”

“ _Emil..._ ” Michele said again, finally taking a seat on the chair beside his bed.

“And if I had to do it all over again, I would make the same choice,” he promised. “Your father put his trust in me, but more than that…” He took a deep breath. “I don’t want to see you get hurt, Mickey.”

“Then stop doing idiotic things like getting shot!” Michele barked, barely concealing a watery smile. Emil reached up and cradled the back of Michele’s head, pulling him close enough so their noses nearly brushed. “I won’t forgive you if you die, you know,” Michele whispered.

“I know,” Emil replied, grinning. “So, I’ll do my best to stay in your good graces.”

“You’d better.” Michele sighed, bumping their foreheads.

They stayed like that for a moment, both grateful the other was alive. Then Emil drew back. “Oh, and Mickey,” he began, glancing over at his bedside table. “Thanks for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”

Michele muttered something under his breath, his ears turning bright pink. And that was all the confirmation Emil needed.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, let me know what you think and hit me up on tumblr [@jubesy](http://jubesy.tumblr.com)!


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